


The Peacock Prince

by Cynical_Hypocrite_TotalDevotion7



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Swan Princess (1994) Fusion, Comedy, Fluff, It's wierd rn, M/M, Magical Accidents, Magical birds, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:02:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynical_Hypocrite_TotalDevotion7/pseuds/Cynical_Hypocrite_TotalDevotion7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based veeery loosely on the Swan Princess.</p><p>Dorian's somehow a peacock and Bull got hired to catch him.</p><p>Also the Charger's are kinda sick of Bull's obsession with taking on all the stupid jobs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

His head turns towards the noise, his wings fluttering restlessly at his sides. It had only been the crack of a branch, perhaps from a deer, but he knows that there aren’t any of those on the property, no—he’s the only animal here. 

His father had seen to that.

The noise repeats, louder and closer this time. Dorian ceases to drowse in the afternoon sun and retreats to his garden, under the hedge where he hides from his father and his tempting, poisonous words and takes shelter from the rain. The fountain burbles merrily, but no birdsong fills the air. The only sound is the rustling of leaves in the breeze and the splashing water.

Of course, that’s all before the Soporati stumbles through the thick forest surrounding the property.

Dorian huddles further into his hidey-hole, hoping the sun is low enough not to glint off his feathers. He can’t be spotted—who knows what wild rumors would spread if they found him.

Who knows what would happen if they took him.

He suppresses a shudder, keeps his tail from wanting to rise and fan out. He gives the Soporati a once-over.

He’s fairly handsome, he thinks. The undercut accents his cheekbones, high and full as bright eyes dart around, taking in his surroundings. A glint of light against Dorian’s eyes brings his attention to the fact that the Soporati is wearing armor. A warrior then. What in the world was he doing on the Pavus’ back lawn? 

The man’s head jerks sharply, looking almost straight at Dorian, and he stills completely, hoping the shadows around him hide the glimmer of his feathers. The man turns away slowly, still eyeing the hedge, before his hand raises and clenches his fist. A signal, probably, for someone else. Dorian’s curiosity gets the better of him and he shifts slightly for a better view.

And his eyes land on a Qunari emerging from the greenery. 

There are others—human, elves—but his attention is riveted to the hulking Qunari swaggering up to the Soporati warrior he originally spotted. 

“All clear, Krem de la Kreme?” The deep, bass rumble of the man’s voice sends a shiver down Dorian’s spine. The Soporati, Krem, he supposes, scowls.

“Clear enough, Chief. Never gonna stop on the nicknames, are you?” He shoves against the almost completely uncovered chest of the Qunari, but the man’s only reaction is a sharp bark of laughter. 

“I’ll stop when you can drink my Qunari brew without coughing.” He smirks as Krem’s scowl turns into a wry grin.

“Well Chief, seeing as that’s a feat even you can’t accomplish, I suppose I’ll have to deal with it.” He looks around, seeming to take note of each person in the troupe, before he returns his attentions to “Chief.” 

“So Chief, what exactly is it we’re looking for again?” One of the elves asks, absently spinning a knife while she looks around. Dorian feels unsafe just watching her twirl it; she looks very comfortable with a dagger in her grip. 

“The patron wanted us to find some kind of bird this Magister keeps as a pet.” Krem replies, looking around. Dorian stills, his heart beginning to thump heavily in his chest. 

“I dunno Chief, I don’t like the look of this place.”

“Chief” grunted, inclining his head slightly in agreement. “I agree. Pretty place like this without any birdsong or nothin’? Something’s up.”

The other elf, with green facial tattoos and something that looks like a mage’s staff on her back, shivers slightly. The one with the dagger glances over at her, and the one with the tattoos starts talking.

“Chief, there’s some kind of enchantment around the place. Keeps animals out and something in, though I can’t tell what.” She shudders again. “This place…isn’t a good one.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that vibe.” Chief scratched the back of his neck, and Dorian felt his eyes drawn to the Qunari’s face. There’s a rugged sort of attractiveness to it, not pretty enough to be handsome, but pretty enough to make your gaze linger. An eyepatch covers his left eye, and the other darts around, taking in his surroundings. His horns stand straight out to the sides, and Dorian has a thought that he must have difficulty getting through doors. It’s not until that single, gray eye meets his own gaze and widens that he realizes he’s stepped out of his hedge and onto the lawn. 

He allots himself a single “oh shit” moment before he darts to the left, the only open path left to him. He hears the mercenaries—because what else could they be, at this point?—shouting behind him, but he focuses on reaching the tree line. He needs to get to the clearing, and the thumping of heavy footsteps behind him spur him on.

All of a sudden, something falls on top of him and he squawks indignantly, realizing the net has him pinned to the ground. He turns his head as the Qunari slows down and kneels next to him, grinning. He whistles, giving him a once-over that makes Dorian feel much too warm. 

“My my, aren’t you a pretty little thing.” A large gray hand starts to descend to pet him, and Dorian struggles in the net, trying to get away from it. The Qunari murmurs nonsense that he thinks is supposed to placate him, calm him down, as the hand settles slowly onto his back. Dorian shudders before stilling, looking the Qunari in the eye. He’s still smiling, the bastard, slowly stroking his back as he looks over Dorian with an admiring eye. Now that Dorian’s looking a little closer, it actually looks green.

The rope is made of hemp. The Qunari’s hand feels pleasant as it strokes his feathers. He allows himself a second to enjoy the touch of another that isn’t inherently violent, before fixing the Qunari with a glare that makes him blink in surprise right before Dorian reaches for the Fade and he explodes into flame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha flaming cock


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's from The Iron Bull's point of view, and might seem a little weird because I still don't have all the details fleshed out yet. But bear with me because there's more to come!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did too much research for this in too small amount of time.
> 
> Thank you to arsenicMonster for peacock inspiration and introducing me to green peafowl! Dorian has now been inspired by that and arsenicMonster left a link to what it looks like in their comment.
> 
> Also thanks to everyone else who contributed to creating the Dorian peacock! I'm afraid I may have taken elements from everyone's comments, soooo...there's that.
> 
> Without further ado, a chase scene!

The Iron Bull shouts and snatches back his hand as the peacock bursts into flames. The net is reduced to ashes and the bird darts away into the undergrowth of the forest, seemingly unharmed. He feels his heart start pounding and his eye dilate. _Ataashi_ , a little voice in the back of his head whispers, and he feels his mouth curl into a wolfish grin.

“Oh, shit yeah!” He shouts, taking off in pursuit. He hears his Chargers groaning behind him as they go to follow. He follows the fiery beacon into the woods.

But damn if it wasn’t a pretty bird. The Iron Bull lets part of his mind go over the details as he hops over a rock. He’d had solid black wings, tipped in silver with hunter green accents and a beautiful, graceful tail—silver to white with silver eyespots of green and blue and just the prettiest damn thing he’s ever seen. The black body with gold and red accents leading to a slender neck with dark, dark red against the black. The tight, upright blue crest. The gold face with such vibrant, lively eyes—now those were weird. They seemed so _human_ , so full of _emotion_ —which, admittedly, was pretty freaky and a weird kinda hot that has him a little worried for himself.

He dodges between the trees, his eyes trained on that white tail, now that it’s no longer on fire. Those rather long legs take the peacock quickly through the thicket, and he finds himself huffing slightly and the distance between him and the bird is slowly increasing. He increases his speed, his knee starting to twinge under the strain. His breath starts coming out in white puffs and that’s the only warning he gets before he slips on the ice. 

He slides forward a little before he lands on his ass with a grunt, momentarily stunned before the grin returns to his face. “ _Ataashi_ ,” he hisses out as he levers himself onto his feet.

He runs after the peacock, his eyes now trained intensely on that white train. What had just been fascination had quickly grown into something bordering on fixation. He _really_ wanted to catch it now.

He starts to close the distance, his eyes now catching flashes of gold and silver in the brief flashes of sunlight between the trees. He notices when they start to thin before the sun brightens rather suddenly and he finds himself in a glade. 

He suppresses the instinct to flinch at the change in scenery, instead taking note of his surroundings. He watches the peacock dash _across_ the surface of a pond and up into the low branches of a willow tree. He trots to a stop at the pond’s edge, staring down into the surprisingly deep, surprisingly blue water. Squinting across the pool of water to the little island in the little, he sees the peacock now sitting pretty in the willow, looking at him in way that could only be described as smug. He begrudgingly admits to himself that this _really_ isn’t a normal bird. Probably why the patron wanted it.

Standing there, looking across the water and studying the peacock, he hears the approach of his Chargers behind him. He shakes his head. He needs to stop thinking of them as _his_ —they aren’t, not really, and he needs to think of them as the tools they are. 

He turns and fixes them with a grin. “Well boys, looks like we’ve got ourselves one interesting bird.”

Krem fixes him with a dark look, his breath slightly labored. “Chief, much as I love you, I’m thinking you may have bitten off more than you could chew on this one. A _peacock_ that uses _magic_? Bit much, even for us.”

The Iron Bull pouts, which obviously has no effect on Krem other than a small quirk of his lips. “Aw, c’mon Krem, it’ll be fun!” Krem tries to scowl, but can’t quite manage it. The Iron Bull knows that it’ll take juuust a little more to convince him to stay and gives him the puppy eye, and Krem sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Ugh, fine Chief. But anymore magical shenanigans and I say we call this off. Doesn’t matter how big the payout is.” He turns to the willow tree, eyeing the peacock which now seems to be ignoring them completely.

The Iron Bull beams. “Thanks Mother.” Krem sighs again. “You won’t regret it.”

“I regret it already.” Krem mutters under his breath. The Iron Bull pretends not to hear him and eyes his-the Chargers, and claps his hands together, grinning widely at the mercs before him.

“Well boys, looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us! Grim, you and Dalish can go and get us some wood for a bridge. Skinner, Stitches, you guys set up the tents. Rocky, you’re on lookout. We may have a looong night ahead of us.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightfall is coming, and you know what that means!

Dorian surreptitiously eyes the mercenaries across the water, two of them going off into the woods and two seeming to be setting up camp. From what he can tell, their goal seems to be to capture him, and now they were going to attempt to build a bridge. Dorian allowed himself a silent laugh, more a full body ripple than anything.

The leader is still watching him with a heated gaze, tilting his head slightly as he goes to sit at the water’s edge and Dorian shivers under the scrutiny. He hops up to a higher branch in an attempt to escape the temptation to simply go back across the water and let the Qunari pet him. It’s been so long since someone’s touched him with kindness, with tenderness—he can’t allow himself the luxury. He shakes off the memories of _skin tan like fine whiskey, cheekbones shaded, lips curl when he smiles_ and turns his attention back to the Qunari and shivers again at the look in his eyes. He takes this time to observe the Qunari.

The Qunari’s wearing some kind of leather harness that stretches across his left pec. The pants the Qunari is wearing, though, make Dorian shudder for an entirely different reason. They’re absolutely ghastly, an offense to fashion that makes him want to tear them off the Qunari and—

And he _won’t_ be continuing that train of thought. He was attractive, yes, but it’s not something he should be trying after, not now, most certainly not in this form. Besides, his deviances are what got him into this mess in the first place. He’s not so stupid as to put his hand back into the fire so shortly after being burned.

The Qunari is covered in scars that cover his skin in a patchwork of silvery lines varying in thickness and size. How such a man could exist, much less still be alive is as mysterious as the mystery person who sent these men after him. He finds he’s climbed back down the tree and is now perched on one of the many roots erupting from the soft, mossy ground in an attempt to get a better view of the Qunari. He mentally curses his scholar’s curiosity even as he looks over the water at him and the Qunari looks backs, his gaze more calculating than Dorian’s own.

He instinctually spreads his tail, settling a barrier over himself before he realizes what he’s done. Dorian feels a little trickle of fear down his spine. This is the second time in as many minutes that he’s lost control of his actions and he worries that the man is disappearing and being replaced by the beast. It’s not unheard of, in any of the texts he’s read; men who become beasts in the pursuit of knowledge and end up becoming one in said pursuit. Dorian fears what he once felt only scholarly curiosity for.

He returns to the present, though, when the Qunari across the water lets loose an appreciative whistle, and twirls his finger in a way that clearly is supposed to imply he turn in a circle. He feels a flood of warmth heat up his body as his eyebrow quirks up sardonically.

_Oh well. Nothing better to do._ Feeling obliging, he twirls and hears another appreciative whistle, this one a little lower, as he looks over his shoulder to look at the Qunari coyly. He feels himself shake his tail feathers a little, clearly the beginning of a mating dance, that he quickly squashes down as he flattens his tail and turns away from the Qunari, turning his view to the opposite side of the pool. 

As he does, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye, twisting his neck to get a closer look and catching the gleam of a gemstone disappearing behind a bush. He lets out an internal sigh of disappointment and flicks out a wing, letting loose a small bolt of lightning to land near the bush, turning back to the Qunari as a yelp and a thrashing of leaves and twigs tells him that the men behind him had vacated their hiding spot. He looks down his beak at the Qunari, as best he can manage it, who simply shakes his head while a sheepish grin blooms on his face, as though to say, _Can’t keep a man from trying._

Dorian shakes his head, mentally cursing his slip in composure. He _likes_ to be the center of attention, likes the way people look at him in envy and occasionally lust. He thrives under the gaze of others, loving to show off with casual displays of magic or intelligence. Of course, he hasn’t been able to do so lately for obvious reasons, and now he finds himself wanting to draw the Qunari’s appreciative gaze, if for no more reason than he wants someone to just _look_ at him. A warm gaze is much better than a cold one.

He lowers his head, turning away from the Qunari as he feels a wave of sadness wash over him, his body shaking with tears he’s unable to shed. Oh, how he misses being human in these moments. It’s so much easier to erect his walls and put on a mask then, when he can feel his face shaping in the way it should. It’s harder in this form, no real way that he’s figured out how to package his emotions into a neat little box and hide them away to be dealt with later. He feels so much rawer as a bird, more exposed and it often leaves him thrashing and screaming once he finally turns back. He looks up at the sky, happy blues being overtaken by the oranges and reds of sunset.

Dorian looks forward to dusk. He doesn’t want to stay on this swampy little island much longer than he has to.


	4. I wanna see your Peacock So where'd he go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magic stuff goes down and the Chargers are slightly amused. And kinda done with Bull's need to take on all the jobs everyone else is too smart to accept.

The Iron Bull feels a little pang of regret as Dalish stomps back to the camp, glowering and glaring daggers at him with her face and unprotected skin covered in rough scratches from the bush she’d been forcefully evicted from. He’s not so sorry about the fact that Dalish got all roughed up, no—that’s just part of the job. He’s more regretful at the fact that she’d interrupted what was looking to be a show the peacock was gonna put on for him. He felt a grin tug at his lips. It looked like he was gonna put the moves on him with a pretty little dance, and that’s something that just drives in the point, moreso than the magic, that there’s something seriously weird about this bird.

His head turns to the camp, nodding approvingly at the speed and efficiency with which Skinner and Stitches had set up camp. Rocky’s got himself perched up on a rock—he allots himself a little snicker—looking bored and messing around with some powders and something that looks suspiciously like gaatlok. He hears some rustling on his left, stamping down the little flutter of panic he’s never been able to completely extinguish, even after all this time, to see Grim coming back with an armful of firewood. Raising his eyebrow slightly, he looks at Grim, who just grunts in his way of saying _You didn’t seriously think we were going to build a bridge, did you?_ He’s kinda jealous of the inherent ability Grim’s got to communicate without really talking.

He watches Krem come back from where he’d been patrolling the perimeter, and feels a little worm of worry at the look on his face. This can’t be good.

“Chief, I think we need to get out quick. It’s freaky how I haven’t seen hide nor hair of anything ‘cept that bird since we got here. ‘Sides that, seems the Magister decided to drop in. We’d best be high-tailing it out of here, whether we’ve got the bird or no.” 

The Iron Bull feels the hairs prickle on the back of his neck, his stance widening in preparation of a threat. Ah, shit. His thoughts sharpen as he becomes Hissrad, letting him run scenarios through his head of all possible outcomes and none of them came out too pretty.

Hissrad evaporates, though, as The Iron Bull snaps his head towards the little island where the peacock has started to scream, a tone that dips and rises before abruptly cutting off and starting again, each time a little louder than before. Soon enough the air booms with the sound, and The Iron Bull resists the urge to flinch each time the scream resonates through the air. Hissrad, temporarily put away but not forgotten, draws The Iron Bull’s attention to the surface of the water, which is now starting to glow. As if this day couldn’t get weird enough.

With each cutting shriek the water glows brighter and brighter, and The Iron Bull can see craters and divots come into focus on the water’s surface, and coming to a certain realization, he looks up. What he sees really gets his hackles up as he slowly reaches for his ax. 

Normally, the moons of Thedas give off a faint glow that can light the way well enough for The Iron Bull not to need a lantern to guide his steps. Now though, the crying of the peacock no longer his main focus, he can see the light slowly changing red, darkening the sky until his eye starts having to strain to see past the treeline, the pool now the only source of light. And that light slowly dims in the same way the moons had, transitioning to red before the ethereal glow fades almost entirely, except where it now lingers around a figure on the island that looks vaguely human-shaped.

And then, in a burst of light that sends glowing globes out in all directions and so brightly that The Iron Bull has to close his eye, the moment ends.

He opens his eye slowly, blinking away the bright afterimages that still dance across his vision. His eye trains itself on the island, looking for the figure he saw and seeing…

…nothing.

There’s no sign of his mystery man, nor any trace that he even existed. No imprints in the mud, nothing. The Iron Bull feels a brief flash of admiration and bewilderment and then he notices that the peacock’s stopped screaming.

…and isn’t on the island anymore.

Shit.

But his ears twitch as he hears a noise on his left, his head turning to follow the noise and catching a brief flash of something metallic before it’s gone. Shouting, The Iron Bull pulls the Chargers from the trance they’d seemingly fallen under at the sight, a few of them outright gawking at the pond still (*cough*Krem*cough*) but snapping out of it at the sound of his voice, moving more slowly than normally to follow him. He doesn’t wait for them as he charges headlong into the forest, his eye darting around as he strains to make out movement in the few places where moonlight leaks through the canopy.

There! A metallic gleam catches his eye and he adjusts his path accordingly, his knee screaming at the abuse from being forced to turn so abruptly. He allows himself a growl as he ups his pace, every now and again catching sight or hearing a rustle that alerts him to the presence of his target. It’s not too long before he realizes that they’re heading back towards the garden where he first saw the bird, and his mind churns with alternate paths to bring him there before the other man, but he decides to just follow him, feeling more cautious than he normally would. He slows his pace, still keeping up with his target but moving silently now, his ears picking up on the sounds of the Chargers behind him as they struggle through the dark.

When he sets foot on the plush grass around the garden, he sees the man he first spotted in the clearing, sitting pretty on a bench next to the fountain.

The Iron Bull’s first thought is _hot_.

His second thought is _shit_.

Cause pretty boy’s none other than the infamous Dorian Pavus, cheeks flushed pink from exertion and just the slightest sheen of sweat on his skin that makes The Iron Bull want to lick his way up his neck.

Dorian Pavus lifts an eyebrow, and The Iron Bull has to remind himself to keep his libido in check. Sure, it’s kinda hard to get laid when you tell people your current job is catching a magical bird, but he’s not _desperate_ , and he probably shouldn't be trying to bang someone that's connected to his job that he doesn't have to bang. But then again, he kinda doesn’t have to be desperate, considering that he’s currently looking at the prettiest damn human he’s ever set eyes on.

Then the man opens his mouth.

“Might I ask what you’re doing on my property?”

See thought two: _shit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA! Take that, writers' block! Stay outta my life!


End file.
